


Shadow Puppets

by celtic7irish



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Nightmares, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 11:27:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: When Tony wakes up from a nightmare, he’ll use the light from the arc reactor to make stupid shapes on the wall.  It's silly, but comforting all the same.  Cue him walking in on another Avenger having a nightmare after having fallen asleep in the common room after a rough mission.  Tony makes shapes for him, too.





	Shadow Puppets

**Author's Note:**

> Eh, figured nobody else was going to fill this headcanon of mine (http://mcujumble.tumblr.com/post/161907248189/when-tony-wakes-up-from-a-nightmare-hell-use-the), so I did it myself.

It was such a stupid ritual to find comforting, Tony knew.  Like seriously, was he five years old?  But he couldn’t deny that it helped, when he woke up terrified and disoriented, his eyes staring unseeingly out into his bedroom.  The light from the arc reactor seemed so bright on those nights, glaring and unforgiving, and Tony hated it.  Hated the way that it reminded him of caves and yelling and dying, the scent of blood and smoke in his nose and sand chafing his skin.

 

The first time it had happened, it had been Dummy’s fault.  Tony had fallen asleep in the lab, and woken up in the pitch dark. He might have screamed; he honestly couldn’t remember.  But the Dummy was there, his claw hand hovering over the arc reactor as he chirped in distress.  And all Tony could see was the shadow that Dummy made on the wall closest to them.  It was comforting, a reminder that he was home, that he was safe.

 

And so, when he woke up in the middle of the night, shaking and suppressing the hiccupping sobs that caught in his throat, he moved his hands in front of the arc reactor, his fingers making silly shapes on the wall.  He’d started out with a simple rabbit, ears and head, and had gradually grown more elaborate.  He’d sworn Jarvis to secrecy when he’d actually gone and looked up various patterns that people could make with two hands and a strong light.  Now he could make birds and deer and planes. Elephants and eagles.  Nothing terribly complicated – though sometimes he’d let Dummy and his siblings help, which always made for interesting shadow puppets – but it was still, in its own way, rather soothing.

 

Eventually, the nightmares came less often, and Tony learned to accept the arc reactor for what it was.  But still, he never really lost the habit, lost the need for those stupid, ridiculous shapes.

 

When the rest of the Avengers accepted his offer of a home and moved into the Towers, starting with Bruce and ending with Steve, the nightmares all but disappeared.  Maybe because there was something comforting in knowing that he was surrounded by a bunch of super-powered and super-talented humans.  Or maybe just because between attending to SI business, attending to the Avengers’ uniform and weapon needs, and being on retainer for SHIELD left him so busy that by the time he collapsed from exhaustion, there was no room for dreams.

 

It was on one of these nights – or mornings, as it were, as it was like a quarter after three – that Tony stumbled into the common room, planning to snag the tablet he’d left there earlier and then make his way to bed where he’d pass out for the next six hours or so.  His tablet was right where he’d left it, on a bookshelf just inside the room.  He grabbed it, then turned around to leave.  A noise made him turn, exhaustion causing him to take a few extra seconds to realize what he was looking at.

 

Clint was sprawled on the wide couch, his arms and legs thrown haphazardly across the cushions, and he was clearly having a nightmare, judging by the way his limbs were twitching and the awful grating noises he was making, something between a garbled plea and a snarl.  Tony hovered in the doorway for a moment, debating if he should try and wake the other man.  Or maybe he should get Natasha, this seemed like something she might have experience with.  At the very least, Clint would probably accept comfort from her.

 

“Jarvis, can you wake Romanov?” he asked softly.

 

 _“I am sorry, sir,”_ his AI responded.  _“Agent Romanov is not due to return for another two days.”_

 

Tony grimaced; he had been hoping that when Clint and Natasha had left at the same time, they were going to the same place.  Apparently, he still had too much faith in SHIELD administration.

 

“Great,” he muttered.  Taking a deep breath, he moved further into the room, until he was close enough to see the lines of tension on Clint’s face.  “Hey, Katniss,” he said, careful to stay out of range and to keep his voice down, “it’s fine.  You’re in the Tower.  You’re safe.”  Clint showed no signs of waking, and Tony sighed.  He was probably going to regret this.

 

Inching forward, Tony reached out and gripped the closet limb, which happened to be Clint’s ankle.  He wasn’t really surprised when Clint kicked at him, and he dodged back out of the way, tripping over the table in front of the couch and landing with a crash and a curse.

 

Clint sat up.  His eyes were pitch black in the darkness of the room, wide and terrified, almost eerie washed in the blue glow of Tony’s reactor.  “Clint?” Tony tried, snapping his fingers.  “Legolas? Katniss? Barton? Is any of this getting through to you?”

 

Clint didn’t respond verbally, but his gaze shifted, drawn to the blue glow of Tony’s reactor.  There was no recognition, however, and Tony’s hand moved instinctively to cover the glow of the reactor.  Clint blinked when the light flickered.  “Blue,” he muttered, the first words he’d spoken.  Then, “Loki,” and it was a harsh, guttural sound.  Tony cursed in his head; Clint had been dreaming about Loki again.  Tony had never asked for details, but he knew, in his own way, what it was to be robbed of control, to be at the mercy of one who had none.  It was a wretched, terrifying thing, and Tony swallowed hard, biting back the swear words.

 

He considered backing out of the room and leaving Clint to finish waking up on his own, but something stopped him.  Maybe it was just that he’d never seen the archer this vulnerable before; maybe it was because seeing Clint like this, wide awake but still trapped inside his nightmare, brought back too many memories of the early days after Afghanistan; maybe it was just because Tony couldn’t just turn around and walk away as if nothing had happened.  Whatever it was, Tony found himself moving without thought, stripping out of his thin tank top and twisting to face the wall, the glow from the reactor throwing blue-tinted light against the whiteness.

 

Clint’s gaze followed the glow, and Tony’s hands moved, forming a rabbit with his hand and two fingers.  Clint blinked, his breathing still coming in quiet gasps, his body so tense it was trembling with the effort of holding still.  Tony changed the image to one of a bird taking flight with both of his hands crossed in front of the reactor.  A deer was next, and then he started making random shapes, more interested in Clint’s reaction than in what his hands were doing.

 

It took several minutes, but then all of a sudden, Clint snapped out of it, blinking rapidly and turning to stare at Tony like he was insane.  “Stark?  What the hell?” he asked, completely bewildered.

 

Tony let his hands drop to his sides. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said, relieved. “My hands were starting to cramp.”

 

Clint just stared at him some more, and now Tony felt really awkward.  “Did you just…make _shadow puppets_ with the arc reactor?” Clint asked, sounding bewildered.  At least he wasn’t laughing, Tony supposed.

 

“Technically, I made the shapes with my hands, but yes,” he said at last.  “You were having a nightmare, and the reactor wasn’t helping, so I made stupid animal shapes until you came to.”  It even sounded stupid to his own ears, and he really kind of wanted to just walk out and not look back, but Clint was still looking a bit lost, having sat up on the couch and bent his legs up under his chin, wrapping his arms around his knees and rocking lightly back and forth.

 

“Loki,” Clint muttered.  “I…don’t really like the color blue.”

 

Tony was sympathetic, he really was; he didn’t much like the beach anymore, himself.  But he didn’t really have a response for the other man that didn’t sound condescending or weak.  “So, then, I should probably go,” he said instead, turning to do just that.

 

He was at the doorway before Clint called him back.  “Thanks,” the other man muttered.  “It…helped.  The shapes." He paused.  "Even if they were kinda stupid," he added.

 

Tony kept his face turned away as he flipped Barton the middle finger. But as he left the room, he couldn’t hold back a small smile.  Maybe the shadow puppets weren’t so useless, after all.

 

 


End file.
